The Scariest 40 Minutes

Classes were changing early to allow for an afternoon homeroom so we could give out report cards. I was trying to get rid of one group of kids who were not listening and usher in another group of kids who didn't want to listen. End of day, report cards, noise, chaos. It's a wonder I heard the intercom buzz at all. "Ms. Smithee, you have a phone call on line 101." My heart stopped. If it were a parent, the office would have sent them to voice mail. No one else would be calling me at the school. Except... It had to be an emergency. It had to be Monkey.

I asked one of my team members to watch my kids while I went to take the call. DH tried to be calm, but I could tell he was anxious. He said, "Monkey's okay, but as a precaution, we're going to go to the hospital. He was having trouble breathing and had some chest pains." WHAT?! My baby's going to the hospital and you're telling me everything's okay? I don't think so.

DH had taken him to the doc-in-the-box near the house, and the folks there thought he was going to be fine, but decided to be safe rather than sorry and called the paramedics. At this point this was all I really knew. I hadn't started to think about it too much - probably a coping mechanism, but I thought that if something were really wrong, I would know it. I would feel it. I went back to my classroom where I asked my teammate who was checking on my kids if he knew where that hospital was. He didn't, but asked me why I wanted to know. I told him, "That's where they're taking Monkey right now." He didn't hesitate before telling me to get out of there, they'd find someone to cover for me. (With all that there is to dislike about the school I'm currently in, and there is a lot, the teachers are top-notch. Not only are they some of the best teachers around, but they're good people who know how to take care of each other. I'm going to miss them next year.) I started getting my stuff together, trying not to think too much, as the kids were giving me their good wishes, and telling me they hoped everything would be okay.

I got out of there as fast as possible, not really knowing where I was going. I called DH to see if he had directions yet. Luckily I knew where it was, but I wasn't sure if I was taking the fastest route. I didn't need to worry about that, though, since the paramedics still hadn't arrived yet. I had time to get to the hospital, and there wasn't anything I could do for Monkey until I got there. Not that there was anything I could do once I did get there, but I needed to be with him.

This is where panic set in. I had nothing to do on my drive to the hospital except think. Not a good thing. I knew DH said the folks at the doc-in-the-box thought Monk was fine, but I've seen enough episodes of ER to know that you can go in the hospital for something seemingly minor...and never come out again. What if this was something major? What if he had some sort of heart defect that we never knew about? What if his lung had collapsed? What if this morning had been the last time I would hear his tiny voice and kiss his soft cheek ever again? How the hell was I supposed to go on if something happened to him? Why were the people in front of me driving so agonizingly slow?

After 40 minutes that seemed like hours, I made it to the hospital. Naturally, I parked at the wrong wing and had a nice hike to the correct wing. Wandered frantically around looking for the chaos and hub-bub of the emergency rooms on TV. Looked through the right doorway several times, but it was too quiet and calm - that couldn't possibly be it. After not finding it anywhere else, I went through the quiet doorway. Told the lady at the desk that my son was being brought in by an ambulance (still not believing I was actually having to say those words). She didn't even look up as she waved me through another doorway. (BTW, how dare she? Did she not realize what an urgent situation this was? MY SON WAS BEING BROUGHT IN BY AMBULANCE, DAMMIT! Everyone was supposed to stop whatever else they were doing and immediately rush to his side! Right?) Finally, I saw DH signing something on a clipboard for one of the paramedics. I heard him tell the guy they'd better get out of my way before I knocked them down trying to get to Monkey. I didn't see anything except the tiny figure in the room behind them.

There he was. Lying happily on a hospital bed, watching Lilo and Stitch on TV. Thank you, God. Thank you. He was all in one piece, excited to show me the plastic thingie he got from the paramedics. It had held the sticky receptors they put on his chest and side to monitor him. Clearly not in a life or death situation. Not hooked up to monitors with twenty tubes coming out of him. No IV bags dripping fluids into his little body. He really was fine.

Turns out he has asthma. Hopefully it's a very low-level asthma that he'll outgrow. They showed us how to give him treatments with the inhaler. For little kids, they don't just put it into their mouths, pump, and inhale. There's a tube that has a mask on one end, and the inhaler on the other end. The mask fits over his mouth and nose, and he takes ten deep breaths after we push the inhaler button once. I guess the tube and mask serve to diffuse the medicine so he doesn't get too much at once. He's actually good about taking the medicine this way. He even took the steroid that was prescribed to him, too. That's really good for a kid that two full-grown adults have to hold down in order to get cherry-flavored cough medicine into.

All totaled, we spent about three hours in the hospital room. Watching Disney movies. Waiting for a doctor to tell us everything was fine. Waiting for a nurse to perform a treatment and show us how to do it at home. Waiting for the doctor to come back again and tell us everything was fine again. Waiting for someone else to bring us discharge papers. Being relieved that the most precious thing in our lives was okay. Those three hours didn't last nearly as long as the 40 minute drive over there.